


Stronger

by Puniyo, Reve_Du_Midi



Series: Parallel Universes [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Fluff and Angst, It gets darker, M/M, Magic, Slow Burn, au!, cinderella plot, cinnamon roll Yuzu, diabetes warning, prepare tissues too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 04:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11328747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puniyo/pseuds/Puniyo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reve_Du_Midi/pseuds/Reve_Du_Midi
Summary: This is the story of a young man who strived to overcome his destiny. This is the story of a young man who fought for his dreams of one day rising to the top of the world. This is a story of a young man who learnt to love and be loved.The deadly Grand Prix War once almost destroyed the Japanese Empire. One boy miraculously survived and is sent abroad to master the art of skating. But fate is not amused and decides to punish Yuzuru for his defiance. Can he survive among all the envy and jealousy? Will Yuzuru find true happiness?





	1. The boy who survived

**Author's Note:**

> Dear all, I had this crazy idea of writing a Cinderella AU! starring Yuzuru as the eponymous character. This is supposed to be a light piece, a few tears here and there but loaded with crack moments (what the off season does to a person ^^' )  
> I hope you enjoy and remember - magic is everywhere!
> 
> Disclaimer: everything that happens in this fic is from my imagination and it does not reflect the attitudes of the people these characters were based on. Any resemblance to real life is pure coincidence.

This is the story of a young man who strived to overcome his destiny. This is the story of a young man who fought for his dreams of one day rising to the top of the world. This is a story of a young man who learnt to love and be loved.

_This is magic._

Once upon a time, the world was involved in the deadly War of the Grand Prix. No one had expected that a mere dispute over the ownership of the sacred sanctuary of Olympia had evolved into one of ugliest armed conflicts of all humankind. The legacy achieved by the American Federation was near its destruction, the Chinese saw their rinks in the Northern side of the country melt under the constant bombing from the Canadian Committee (whose major commanders had fallen in the gruesome battlefield) and the French, well, it is just too painful to even remind people of the suffering in their eyes.

The Japanese Empire was almost at its feet as well and the people could not stand another day of uncertainty and seeing corpses on the streets anymore. There had to be an end to all the violence and misery. – ‘It’s the ice!’ – ‘Burn the trophies!’ – ‘It’s the skaters! It’s their fault!’ – Farmers and white collars swept the streets with their protests. – ‘No more NHK trophy!’ – ‘Give us back our lives!’ – ‘Give back my daughter! – and the cries and wailings were never ending. The emperor soon learned that without the support of his people, the Grand Prix War would continue for countless years. Hoping to gain back the trust from his fellow countrymen, he issued a decree, which changed the destiny of our hero, and which is meticulously transcribed below without any modifications:

_Olympia Year 1994 – All members of the National Figure Skating Federation shall be named traitors of Japan. With the power bestowed on me as Emperor of the Nation of the Rising Sun, I hereby declare all the aforementioned members as criminals and they shall be judged as such. The Empire of Nippon will never ever practice such atrocious sport. All ice rinks should be destroyed. Anyone who brandishes skating blades, whether parabolic or revolution blades, will be severely punished._

While most of the people rejoiced the wise decision from the emperor, there was one woman who was utterly dreaded with the freshly approved law. Shizuka Arakawa, once considered to be the light of Japan during the Olympic Games, was now reduced to a status even worse than a killer. And while her health had deteriorated so much that she could barely stand, she feared more for the life she had in her hands – a young baby, no more than a few months old, parentless, victim of the vicious Grand Prix War. But he was not a simple child. She knew right from the moment she had heard him cry. She knew right from the moment that those fragile tiny hands held hers with the most assuring grip she had in her life. She knew that that child was the hope for Sendai – no – he was the hope for the future of Japan.

And she needed to escape now. Escape, before the imperial soldiers came to claim her life. She would crawl if she needed to, but those brutes would never set a finger in this boy’s head. She would not allow it. And so she ran, ran with all her might even when her body wanted to give up, but she continued to run until she reached the military camp of the Russians, stationed outside of the heart of the city. They were their allies in war, but until when, no one knew. The sand in the hourglass had almost fallen completely and this was when the little baby in her arms cried. A sharp, high-pitched cry that drew the attention of all the surrounding people.

Fear had silently creeped into her muscles and she was trembling – ‘Please, someone help me!’ – she almost begged, even if the words were stuck in her throat and were choking her. She collapsed to the floor, her body finally losing to the painful reality of her disease and to the naivety of her dreams. It was at this moment that a man dressed in blue came out of one of the tents. Shizuka could barely see now but at least she noticed how shiny the golden hair from the man was and that his epaulette had more than three stars.

\- ‘Please, save this child.’ – And these were her last words.

Commander Evgeni Plushenko of the 2nd Battalion of the Russian Federation retrieved the baby from the cold and damp floor, who stopped crying the moment he felt human warmth again. Plushenko’s trained eyes could instantly tell that the woman on the floor no longer lived and he knelt next to her to offer a prayer. That was when he noticed she had something under her chest. He pulled the object out carefully, not rocking the baby in his arms too suddenly, whose sleeping face was even purer than an angel.

The object was a stuffed toy. A Winnie the Pooh that had an opening on its back. And it was quite heavy. Curious as he was, he pulled out from the toy the source of the heaviness – a pair of miniature skates, so small it could only probably fit a baby of less than three months old. There was a name in the boots, very coarsely stitched with a silver line.

It read ‘Yuzuru Hanyu’.


	2. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russia had been his home, his nest to return to. But Yuzuru Hanyu soon learns that nothing lasts long in this world...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What would a fairy tale be without melodrama?

_(fifteen years later)_

\- ‘It’s an inside edge, Yuzuru!’

The young man shyly bowed when he glided close to his coach. Well, he was not necessarily his coach but his idol, the man who he thought was the epitome of perfection. And for the fifth time of this short practice session, he had not yet quite conquered the mechanisms of the Flip jump. – ‘Backward inside edge, inside edge, inside, inside, inside.’ – The broken record played in his mind over and over again and the next attempt he did, maybe not very pronounced, a slight inside (bordering flat) edge finally took place. The landing of the triple Flip was also pretty smooth.

Yuzuru Hanyu heard clapping at a distance and an innocent smile complemented his rosy cheeks, the color due to both the cold temperature at the rink and his own physical effort. Finally accomplishing his objective for the day, he approached the older man, not before leaping into great heights for a majestic triple Axel. For a second, Plushenko thought he had seen someone flying.

\- ‘If you still have energy to burn, why not practice your quads? The Salchow combination is giving you trouble, I know.’ – And he gently ruffled Yuzuru’s hair, an action that he knew the younger man did not appreciate at all.

\- ‘Your quad Lutz is also very inconsistent. Age is a nice friend.’ – Yuzuru stuck out his tongue in a playful manner as to challenge the other skater.

\- ‘Insolent brat. Watch and learn.’ – And Plushenko moved to the other side of the rink, doing a few strokes here and there, a few crossovers to gain speed and warm up. He would not lose to the cheeky brat.

A wild and feral brat, but also gentle and compassionate. A cheeky brat that had a contagious smile.

The blonde skater positioned himself in the middle of the rink, his back facing the boards, and glided towards them, preparing the outside edge. Just as he was ready to ascend to the air, his toe pick only inches away from the ice, a sudden, sharp pain struck his back and he fell to the cold surface, his right elbow cushioning the whole impact. Judging from the lack of control of his hand, something must have broken.

\- ‘Zhenya!’ – Yuzuru flew as fast as he could to the side of his mentor helping him to stand.

\- ‘I’m fine, Yuzuru. I’m fine.’ – But his face writhed in much pain, his left arm limp and his back sustaining the crushing pressure of a cannon ball.

Both skaters left the rink and sat on the closest bench, Yuzuru’s face showing signs of panic. What should he do? What could he do? Should he call for help? Where could he find help? He stood up, the skating guards not yet shielding his blades but Plushenko held his wrist and forbade him to go.

\- ‘He is almost here. We don’t have much time Yuzuru.’

\- ‘He? Who is he? And why? What is going on?’

\- ‘Listen, I can’t be your coach anymore.’ – He tried to continue but the exasperated boy next to him did not stop moving.

\- ‘What? Why? But you need help! Your back–‘

\- ‘ _Listen_.’ – He tried to sound stern and menacing to no avail. – ‘You’ll leave this place soon. There is no future for you here.’ – And he held the hands of the young boy which were trembling. Or maybe it was his own hands that could not bear to set the cage free and see this baby owl spread the wings into a horizon without him, this grizzled eagle that had long forgotten the scent of wilderness.

That moment, a bulky man, probably in his forties, entered the rink, his impeccable leather shoes hitting the floor merciless with each meticulous step. A long scarf hang on his neck which complemented his grey tailored suit, also leather gloves and slick hair. Yuzuru thought he looked professional but very intimidating, his face devoid of any feelings. His head resembled an inverted chestnut though, and the young boy wondered whether if it was because he was fond of the said fruit.

\- ‘Always on time Morozov.’ – Plushenko released Yuzuru’s hands.

\- ‘Is this the little mushroom?’ – The newly arrived man eyed the boy from head to toe, his face no different than a robot. – ‘Stand up so I can see better.’

Plushenko gave a reassuring pat on his shoulders and a confused Yuzuru slowly got on his feet, his hands still warm. With his skates on, he was always the same height as Nikolai Morozov. The latter scrutinized every single muscle in his body, measuring the firmness of his thighs, the thickness of his arms, the length of his neck. He even pulled a strand of hair to check its brittleness, and the color of his teeth, just like a costumer checking his merchandise. Yuzuru wanted to hiss at the discomfort but kept quiet.

\- ‘Slouched posture,’ – Morozov slapped his back, the young man taking in involuntary step forward, – ‘and pencil thin. But he has good muscles and his legs are long. Skin not bad, could be better. Can he jump?’

\- ‘He can already do the triple Axel – from a back counter.’

The foreign man remained immovable and the slight twitch on his eye gave away his steel face – he was both skeptical and surprised that such meager figure could perform the three and half revolutions, from an unusual entry inclusive.

\- ‘I’ll take him.’

\- ‘What!?’

Yuzuru finally broke the silence he had secluded himself into, his gaze fixed on his mentor and hastily in need of a word of confirmation that this whole situation was a prank on him for not practicing the Flip enough or for slacking in his camel inside edge spin.

\- ‘He can go tomorrow.’

\- ‘It must be tonight.’ Plushenko wanted to protest further but the excruciating pain had rendered his linguistics abilities to miserable pleas. It dawned on him that he really did not want to open the cage – that _goodbye_ was a word he wished he had not ever learnt in his life.

\- ‘He needs time.’

\- ‘Time is money, my friend.’

And Morozov leered one last time at Yuzuru before taking his leave, the frigidness of his stare enough to freeze the young boy’s blood. He felt he could breathe better when the man left the rink.

Yuzuru was at the verge of tears and betrayal gnawed his gut. His idol, his trusted friend, had sold him to a cyborg and muscle maniac. And for what? For money? Was he a burden? His hands had clenched into fists but he soon forgot all the deception when he saw that the pain in the other’s eyes was the same as his, and there was something more. There was regret.

\- ‘Do I really have to go?

\- ‘You have no choice.’

\- ‘But I like it here! I like the ice here! I will not go!’

\- ‘ _Listen!_ ’ – For the second time of the day, the blond man had raised his voice – something he had never done at Yuzuru before. – ‘You don’t belong here. Your potential will be lost here.’ – And he hugged him, also something he normally did not do but he also had no other choice – maybe this was really _farewell_. – ‘You have my blessing Yuzuru. The legacy of the Biellmann is yours now.’

A tear fell on the bench. It wasn’t Yuzuru’s. It was his. – ‘Trust in your heart. _Always_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't promise that the next chapter will arrive soon but I hope my muses will be kind to me ^^'


	3. Dragonfly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in Yuzurella: away from Russia and Japan, the 'stepmother' finally shows the fangs. Can Yuzuru find his inner strength?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My purple prose has reached new heights with this chapter *slaps herself* 
> 
> Well, a little more drama for character development... happy days will come soon!
> 
> Disclaimer: Anything that happens in this fic do NOT reflect my personal opinion of the names mentioned here. They are just for the purpose of the plot.

_Fly, oh dragonfly, drenched in moondew, for your wings will forget you once were free._

_(Five years later)_

The first snowflakes of the year fell on the dark hair, like petite stars lighting the Northern sky. The winter breath had stripped all the trees in the region to mere skeletons of cracked bark and broken twigs and it settled in the room without ceremonies and shame. But today was special and it whispered sweet melodies to his ear after sneaking in through the broken glass pane.

Yuzuru woke at the sound of children playing outside and their uninhibited laughter. It was still early morning and the warmth of his bed, although not the most comfortable one, was enough for him. Just like his room, although known for other people as the attic of the house, he was content to have a corner only for him. Well, he wasn’t alone. Next to his pillow lay his battle companion, the cutest, fat yellow and red bear that had never abandoned him and always gave him the most sincere, reassuring hug of the last years.

The young man rose to his feet, stretching his arms, his hands easily touching the floor. He was very flexible, had always been, and that gift did not seem to fade as he grew taller. A few steps away from his bed, he noticed the large red circle on the calendar in had drawn – it was December 7th.

Excitement filled his dormant face and soon he was twizzling and jumping in the room in a growing frenzy, his high-pitched giggles filling the air around that tiny space. The wooden floor without luster normally produced an eerie shriek but today it blew an idiosyncratic canon.

He hurriedly shed his sleeping robes, the rhombus shaped pendant draped gracefully at his collarbone, and donned his favorite red and black training gear. The scarlet stripes glistened like fire, not the kind that burned, but the sparks of ember that fueled one’s desire.

Yuzuru flung his skates over the shoulders and gave a quick glance at his stuffed accomplice, who stared at him with pride and seemed to congratulate him.

\- ‘Thank you Pooh.’

It was the beginning of winter and the frost season. The season that concludes the cycle of karma and smothered nature with its death touch. He hated this folk view, this ungrateful and perverse panorama that hurt his beloved solstice princess. The only one that had ever cared about. Only her and her hands doused in white.

He arrived at the rink earlier than any other day. Not that he would be late on the other days – Olympia forbids him to do so, a ribbon of ruby apple on his virginal skin was a powerful shard in his memory – but there was something in the air – maybe magic, maybe the scent of naiveté – that drew him to the ice. Perhaps for one day, for a lapse in time, for a discrete slip in this junction of eons, he could be _free_ and try it.

Yuzuru looked around and greeted silence with his own hopeful gasp. The boots in the lockers could wait. The floor too. And the windows. The world could stand still for just a few winks. He tensely wore his skates and almost lost balance when removing the guards. He normally bent down to touch the ice for their mutual salutation but today he dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead on the glacial surface, his arms drawn forward as an offering. An offering to the frozen crystals – his heart, his will, his life, there laid naked and at its mercy.

\- ‘Thank you.’ – And he let his feet try the rink and guide him through the invisible circuit of the slippery area.

_Fly, oh dragonfly, drenched in moondew, for your wings will forget you once were free._

For a moment not registered in time, he forgot who he was, his arms clenched at his chest but then releasing them in a fanciful yet refined motion he intuitively let flow from his own core. He ran with the music that fiddled in his mind, a jump in each accent and a spin, a Bielmann tiptoeing the glissando of the melody only he could hear. He opened his arms to the ceiling, waiting for judgement, his eyes longing for more than just freedom.

\- ‘WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?’

A man shouted, his voice grave and heavy – the divine chastisement he had evoked just now.

Yuzuru quickly left the ice, his fingers shaking considerably that his blade guards fell on the ground a couple of times before he could put them on. He had lost count of the minutes he had skated and his flushed complexion gave away his tryst just now. He bowed to his guardian, a habit he picked from Takahashi Daisuke, who stood next to the inverted chestnut wrapped in a black scarf and inundated in a cologne that reeked of artificiality and chemical components. Yuzuru hated that smell.

\- ‘Have you finished your duties?’ – He never once smiled.

\- ‘No.’

\- ‘Then why are you on the ice if not fixing it?’

The young man fidgeted his fingers but gave no excuse. – ‘I’m sorry.’

And Morozov gestured him to go away, he himself disappearing to a room at the end of the corridor, not before telling Takahashi to warm up for fifteen minutes.

Yuzuru sat on the floor, the slight humidity of the rubber floor bathing the fabric of his pants. Not that he cared about it.

\- ‘What was that?’ – Daisuke crouched next to him, tying his boots tighter.

\- ‘I’m not supposed to be here.’

\- ‘Not this. What were you doing there?’ – And he pointed at the rink behind him.

\- ‘Did you see it?’ – A smile invaded Yuzuru’s face and his voice reflected the excited, inner child of his.

\- ‘I could hear the music Yuzuru. Your call for a flight.’

He wasn’t lying. He could have sworn that drums were played as it still echoed in his ears. A symphony of rebellion and bravado. It was as if it was magic. Maybe it was.

\- ‘Where did you learn that?’

\- ‘I didn’t.’

Yuzuru wasn’t lying as well. The ice felt natural like something inherently his, with no logic, no explanation – just something that felt right. But he also did not tell him the hours he had spent dancing on the rink, the pain of each fall already numb in his mind, and the harrowing resolve to stand up and keep moving on, moving forward, until his body was branded with charcoal and graphite shades that refused to leave the human canvas. And only Pooh had seen this supernova of sheet strength that wanted to conquer his weaknesses. It was the ice, Yuzuru always told himself, that kept him under a spell he did not want to be freed of.

\- ‘Do you think I can go?’

Daisuke looked at him for a moment, a perplexed look in his face. – ‘Where do you want to go?’

\- ‘Takahashi, go to the ice. And YOU, time is money.’ – This sentence sounded strangely familiar to him, just like the first time they had met. – ‘Patrick’s blades have not been polished. Make sure they are _sharp_.’

Yuzuru only nodded and bowed to the older skater who gave him a resigned pat in his head. The young man had never voiced out the uncanny feeling that made his nerves itch but he wanted to believe that he wasn’t hated. That he was another of the multitude of students his new mentor had and that he was just of less priority compared with other aspiring skaters. That he would finally have the chance to radiate under the spotlight of competitive glimmer.

He spent his morning and afternoon thinking about it – about his own silver blades when sharpening others’; about a hypothetical attire that would match his own sound while rubbing the floor and applying the soap that slipped from his own hands again and again; about the butterflies and fireflies in his gut when bending over to mend the cracks and depressions on the ice as if he was receiving the attention of all those who came to watch. He wanted to open the curtains that blocked his vision from the vast plethora of possibilities he had never tasted.

By the end of all practices, when Patrick Chan had finished his routine (and had not even bothered to look at him), his skate dull and almost irritating like a classical guitar whose strings had snapped even before the song had commenced, Yuzuru mustered his courage and dragged his legs, his arms, his chest, his head, his entire body, to enter that office – the synthetic room with a lethargic touch of indifference.

\- ‘What is it Yuzuru?’

His throat was dry but words came out anyway. Perhaps not in his usual voice.

\- ‘I would like to join the Coming of Age Trophée.’ – The initiation ceremony for the competitive world.

Morozov put down his fountain pen that leaked too much ink at the tip. – ‘Where did you hear about this?’

\- ‘Takahashi-senpai told me about it.’

 _Senpai_ , a word he had learned from the older skater who insisted in teaching him the culture of their own country, even if it was in the process of rebuilding their way of living. He had always remained in the shadows to avoid the fury of the imperial laws – they, the dissenters for refusing to leave the ice.

He kept contact with Mao Asada, another rebel from the nonconformist faction, and she had told him that the Japanese Federation was amidst negotiations with smaller leagues and unions. Rumors had it that the Spanish and the Kazakhstan federations were favorable of reinstituting the sport in an international level. The Canadian one was also mentioned.

\- ‘Do you want to go to a competition?’ – The Russian coach smiled as he stood up, the sound of his knuckles cracking bringing a shiver to Yuzuru’s body.

The young man only nodded, his eyes shining faintly with a flicker of hope.

\- ‘But why do you think you could join a competition?’ – And he hit Yuzuru’s lower back, not strongly but also not leniently. He hissed at the momentarily spasm.

\- ‘Always a slouched posture. If you can’t even stand straight, how do you expect to show yourself to others?’

The Japanese athlete refused to look at the man who was talking on his left side, right next to his ears. It wasn’t the first time he had heard the sermon. One more time wouldn’t hurt him. Not _much._

\- ‘You lack stamina, your blades don’t glide, your arms are-’ – He grabbed his right arm to emphasize the disgust in his voice, – ‘ _weak_. You’ll never be like Patrick. You have _no_ talent. I’ll not let such shameful sound ruin my name.’

Morozov gestured Yuzuru to leave his space, the plastic and unnatural four walls.

\- ‘You’ll never make music. _Never_.’

Yuzuru held to his skates, promising himself he would not shed a single tear, and left the room, the rink, that burrow that not once accepted him.

_Fly, oh dragonfly, drenched in moondew, for your wings will forget you once were free._

And ran. As fast as he could. He would not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shouldn't Javi appear soon? :P


	4. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week on the purple metaphors: Yuzuru finds freedom for a short moment only to be plunged - literally - into a new challenge. And a mysterious man makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for another purple manifesto but I had to get this one out of the system so I can move forward with the plot. A short update but magically important :P 
> 
> The usual disclaimer applies and a reminder that this is an AU.

Like a piece of turquoise falling on a steel fan, the world breaks and shatters. It fractures into smaller pieces and the puzzle is impossible to be put back even with the solution on one’s hand.

He had run away – run to where his legs would bring him. There was nothing to worry about, nothing that bound and cuffed him to _that_ place. Nothing that was worth fighting for. And there was also no red light, no forceful grip or mental manacle that whispered honey-like poems for him to change his resolution.

Like a dragonfly in the wild, he was attracted to the horizon at the end of the rainbow even if he knew not whether there would be land for him to rest from his flight. He ran to the North, to the land of maple leaves and silver troves. He ran until adrenaline no longer fooled him and fatigue threatened to take possession of his free will without any consent.

Snow fell, the tiny fractals of frozen water lay upon his hair and shoulders as he entered the maze of trees, boughs of willow and needles of cedar. How long had he run he did not know, but there would be an exit if he kept going on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A piece of rough diamond is in the essence still a gemstone. In the absence of polish and light filtering cuts, it is easily mistaken for a shard of glass. Raw and crass, and yet still coveted by many.

 _He_ had just run away for an extremely _short_ break, he would like to say – an interruption in his official mundane duties, an intermission from his suffocating daily schedule. There were other more stimulating enterprises he would venture into, especially those that involved women and _fun_.

Not that _he_ wasn’t diligent with his skating but there was a certain tantalizing brilliance in escaping. And he honored that feeling. It would only be for a few hours, less than a day, not enough for the sky to be dyed in the scarlet, orange ombré and for darkness to finally gain momentum.

He escaped the maze of trees, bark of yew and blades of beech. He would flee, remain invisible and even disappear just for a while. He would just become one with the cosmos and taste _freedom_ in the utter silence.

Not for long. The sudden surge of birds, too many for him to count and some almost colliding into him was bizarre. It was beautiful, even majestic, the pearly shower of feathers harnessing snow, that he thought as a welcome tribute. But then the earth shook at his feet, a wild bolero and then a tremor so strong he couldn’t keep his balance and he fell, his elbows weeping for sustaining the plummet.

They hurt but the cacophony of bells that reverberated from nowhere alarmed him. He clutched his head, each note outside the canon hammering his temple, each acutely high pitched quaver piercing his skull. It hurt but then it subdued. It burned but then it healed. And the sound resonated again like cymbals carousing at his eardrums in a broken symphony without a maestro. He cried, the scream wrenched from his throat, ripping his vocal chords, his senses, his perception.

It all stopped abruptly, only his plea for relief audible and he stood there embracing himself like a madman. His nerves twitched from the supernatural experience just now and his whole body shuddered, trembling, his sanity trying its best to calm down the hysteria. There was only silence now, a complete state of muteness. He thought he might have dreamed in that taciturn stage.

And then, as an apology, he heard something. Something faint, incoherent syllables, and pitiable. Like muffled sobs of a boy. He felt drawn to this wailing lullaby that came from the depths of the woods.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuzuru knelt at the frozen lake, his legs giving out to the weariness and the dullness of his muscles. He gasped for air, the tightness of his chest not supplying him enough oxygen and he felt dizzy. Yet, his weakened body did not temper his rage and it only intensified his frustration. He hit the compacted ice, each blow accompanied by an agonizing yelp, his knuckles turning red from the impact and almost drawing blood. He stopped moments later and the painful cries were now sobs, erratic at first but then it calmed into a lonely quietude. Tears continued streaming down his face, each drop an apology for the abused ice.

He stood up and skated to the center of that improvised rink, noticing how birds flew from tree to tree, across the sky in a whimsical rhythm and bizarre pattern. He followed them, miming their crisscross dance and their spiraling jitter into jumps and steps that carelessly cut and chiseled the ice. Snow rested on his palms and he blew the ghastly flakes away before melting, all in an impromptu routine of disappointment at the status quo, at unbroken promises – at _himself_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was marveled by the boy on the lake, by the way he carried his spirit on the ice, by the way he revealed his heart, naked and limitless, under the vast sky. He was guided by his sweet song and he could not pull himself away from the wistful melody of the moment. Only until this chant was broken by the faint piano of rupture and cracks.

He would not be able to reach him on time.

\- ‘GET AWAY FROM THE ICE!’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuzuru stopped moving at the sudden roar that disrupted his commanding hypnosis. He opened his eyes and searched for the origin of that echo that he did not understood clearly. There isn’t enough time for him to recognize the man clad in red when the surface under his feet wobbles and staggers, the thunder of the bursting exploding in his ears as he plunges into the water.

The water is cold. The water is painfully cold. The water is excruciatingly cold. He does not know what is happening and why there are daggers on his skin. He does not understand why his muscles do not move or why he can’t control them. He involuntarily gasps for air but there is only water, wretchedly cold water and he drowns, the mild saline taste burning his throat and his lungs.

Yuzuru is scared. For the first time in his life, he feels truly appalled and the water is agonizingly cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think it's that hard to guess who the mysterious man is :P
> 
> And it's time for Yuzuru to gain his inner strength back ^^


	5. Shooting Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in Yuzurella: a visit from a Spanish man, bonfires and mispronounced names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our savior finally has a name :p and some people must learn that being a shooting star might not be the best idea. 
> 
> Thank you all for the comments and support to this story. I hope the next installments won't disappoint.

_There is fire that burns and consumes, fire that illuminates and guides, fire that creates and destroys. There are flames that scorches and heals, flames that lights the night sky and dries the salt of the oceans, flames that divide the land and splits straights. But that are also sparks that embrace victory and blaze that feeds glory, embers that melt the ice and a wildfire that connects hearts._

\- ‘Can you trust me?

He just nodded, a delicate smile on his lips, and he sat aside, allowing him some space within the foreign robe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The water was grueling cold. So cold it threatened to sever his blood from flowing to his heart and harden his nerves so his limbs could not drive his body forward. He felt numb and heavy, unable to float back to the surface and destined to sink to depths unknown. The water was asphyxiating him, constricting his throat and the pressure hammered on his skull and ribcage. But he would not resign to that paralyzing force and give _him_ to the sly sirens waiting to devour _him_.

He did not know why he jumped to the lake without a second thought.

Yuzuru was almost unconscious when he pulled him out of the punishing water. His eyes were closed as if drifting into a deep slumber and his face was washed off of its zestful color. His lips were purple and he could feel the last vestiges of strength leaving that body with each passing second. He does not know what he can and what he must do, his mind is blurred and the water is still cold.

\- ‘I’m sorry.’

– And he punches the other boy in the stomach with a bruising might.

The impact of the blow makes _him_ cough up the drunk water in painful fits, his hands clutching the beaten abdomen in a protective reflex. He almost chokes but his elbows support the weight of his chest and keep his head up and he can feel the icy air, the gelid oxygen making way to his lungs once again. It’s reassuring the feeling of being able to grasp the damp soil in his hands but the mind likes to play pranks and the fear has not subsided. Where was he now? Was him in the same place or gone to another realm? Was he still alive?

\- ‘Everything’s fine. You’re safe now. Trust me.’

Yuzuru looks up and a pair of hazelnut eyes greet him. Snow rested on his hair and water dripped from its ends. His body shivered and his words had been slurred and not clear. His hand is gripping his shoulders to keep him steady. He does not know where he finds the strength but he pushes the other man away, who falls back while mumbling something in a language he does not understand.

\- ‘Is this how you thank someone who has just saved your life?’ – Irritation was clear in his voice.

So he was alive after all. The warmth in his fingertips albeit weak was real. The revolutions and cramps in his gut albeit sickening and dolorous were a proof that he did not die. Now on his knees, he looks again at the stranger, who was sitting and whose breath was also labored and vestiges of fatigue invaded his facial features. He had never seen the man before.

\- ‘ _I’m sorry_.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is twilight and the sky is enveloped in an ever-reaching fan of fuchsia and rosewood strokes painted with brushes of particles. The ice mirrors the same hues and the water has the descending sun walking in its surface. Yuzuru has never seen something more majestic but the fire in front of him – small but untamed and spiraling in ribbons of caramel and terracotta – might make him change his mind.

They are both standing next to the newly assembled heat and the Japanese man notices that the stranger’s clothes still exuded a regal quality to it, almost imposing, even though they are wet and uncomfortably clung to his body, just like his own but demanding a reverence he could not explain. He blushes when the other man smirks at him staring at him after taking off his shirt. He averts his eyes but he catches a glimpse of the sleeve stained with red.

\- ‘Enjoying what you’re seeing?’

Yuzuru tries to ignore the comment even when his face betrays him and gestures at his own arm.

\- ‘You’re hurt.’

\- ‘Huh?’ – The stranger looks at the cut, the blood already dried but the wound was fresh and adorning his skin in a rather ugly design. – ‘It doesn’t hurt.’

\- ‘I’m sorry.’ – He realizes he must have cut from when he pushed him.

The other man shakes his head and there was a slight tinge of annoyance in all those apologizes. – ‘You better take off your clothes or you might get sick.’ – He sat on top of a bed of dry leaves, more pleasant than he actually thought it would be.

When the young man does not move an inch, and seems reluctant to shed off what looks like a dark second skin, he thinks he’s just shy and even a little too puritan but he regrets his thoughts soon and he finds himself this time mentally asking for forgiveness. The young man moves gracefully like a swam taking flight and he’s drawn to the slender ivory body. His eyes focus on his waist and then his back when he turns around a little, just enough for him to identify a few scars.

\- ‘I should have asked you first.’

\- ‘I’m _fine_.’

\- ‘I don’t know what those are. I should never get hurt or people will be punished.’

\- ‘Spoiled child.’

\- ‘I’m not spoiled!’

The stranger pouts but does not take the comment as an insult and he is delighted that there is a smile on the other man’s lips. He finally sits and there is a moment of silence besides the burning bark and branches.

\- ‘What do they call you?’

\- ‘Yuzuru.’ – He is throwing some broken twigs to the fire and chuckles when he hears his name being mispronounced.

\- ‘I’m Javier.’

\- ‘ _Havier_.’

\- ‘It’s _Javier_.’

\- ‘ _Havier_.’

\- ‘ _Yusuru_.’

They both laugh at their _new_ names, the giggles echoing through the eclipsing shades of dusk. Yuzuru misses this feeling of someone calling his name with playfulness and amusement. He misses this quietude as well, the stillness he owes to himself.

He flinches when he feels a velvety garment fall on his naked shoulders and a pair of hands that ruffle his hair, still wet and the longer strands lingering on his forehead. It was Javier’s coat, one that had lain forgotten in between them, with golden lines and buttons. Yuzuru tries to protest but the other man refuses the clothing item back and says he is fine, even when sneezing right after finishing his sentence.

\- ‘Where are you going?’ – Javier extend his hand closer to the fire.

\- ‘I don’t know. I just want to run.’

\- ‘Can’t you go back?’

Yuzuru lowers his head, his fingers clenching the coat tighter and he slightly shakes his head.

\- ‘And your family?’

There is still no answer.

\- ‘I don’t want to go back too. But I miss Laura.’

\- ‘Laura?’ -

‘She’s my sister. She’s the only family I have.’

\- ‘I have… I have Pooh.’

\- ‘Pooh?’

\- ‘Yes, Pooh-san. My only companion of battle.’ – He releases the pressure of his fists and look at his empty hands. He had left his only accomplice at Morozov’s place.

\- ‘You sure are an interesting man, _Yuzuru_.’

He gives up in correcting the stranger, who was less strange now, and he finds himself enjoying that lisping of his name. He hesitates at first but he offers Javier to join him under the coat after he sneezes a few times in a row. The other man tries to hide the chilling sensation that had drilled to his bones and his failed attempts at resisting it were amusing but it also made him a little pitiable.

\- ‘Can you trust me?

Yuzuru just nodded, a delicate smile on his lips, and he sat aside, allowing him some space within the foreign robe. It wasn’t large enough for the two of them but it would shield them from the freezing breeze that threatened to come with the night. Yuzuru notices how Javier’s eyes are like two dark ambers with chocolate streaks and his curls can be even wilder than his own strands. He is unwittingly staring again and the stranger is ready to hurl another declaration about his physique but his will votes against it and his hands assaults the delicate waist. The young man contorts and bends which only heightens his sensitivity. He almost falls to Javier’s lap, his own fingers digging in the muscles of his thighs, and he releases a cry in the midst of all the incoherent giggles.

Javier laughs wholeheartedly at that kitten’s wail, sharp and high pitched, and he stops the harassment.

\- ‘I don’t know where I can go.’ – Yuzuru looks at the feeble fire and the pieces of ruby charcoal breaking apart.

\- ‘You should go to España.’

\- ‘ _Espana_?’

\- ‘Spain. El reino entre el cielo y la tierra.’

There is a sudden excitement on the air and a subtle passion in Javier’s voice. There is also a dash of something that Yuzuru can’t explain but it makes him sad, a melancholy he can feel but not endure.

\- ‘It’s a very beautiful place. Really! You can smell the clay in the mountains and taste the salt in the cliffs. The sky is always blue and we are never scared of strong winds.’ – Javier exaggerates on the gestures but he is lost on a world of his own. – ‘ _Los albaricoques_ are the sweetest there and _los melocotones_ are fuller and juicier. There is dance all day and pretty ladies in short dresses. The wine is free and it rains from the rooftops. And–’

The stranger suddenly feels the young man’s head resting on his shoulders. Yuzuru had fallen asleep and his breath tickles the skin of his neck and his jaw. He notices how his long eyelashes flutter from time to time and how his lips are parted. Javier wanted to tell him more about his country, more about how fascinating the land was and how charming the people were to him. He wanted to tell him about the rondos Laura played for him, about the ice he missed so much, about the years he had not returned to his beloved España. He wanted to ask him where he came from, about the tears before, about that magical skate he witnessed.

But Yuzuru had the most serene expression on his face and he did not want even for one second ruin that intimate moment. Javier carefully places his arm over his slender body and hugs him, not too tight but enough to keep him closer and warmer, just _his_ for tonight.

He doesn’t know why but he wants to protect him, even if it is just from the cold. Javier falls asleep too with this thought on his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning when the Spaniard wakes up, there are no sights of the young man. The fire is out and the pieces of burnout charcoal are cold and crumble and dissolve into ashes, scattered by the uninvited gusts. The snow has stopped but there are no footprints around him. The sky is still being drawn in lilac and amethyst tones, with the unusual visit of a shooting star, and the sun welcomes the dawn.

Javier notices there is a tiny sparkle at his feet. He bends to pick it but his body is stiff and hurts. It was a rhombus shaped crystal in its most perfect state, without any blemishes or scratches.

He promises to himself he will meet the owner of that pendant again. One day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> España, El reino entre el cielo y la tierra - Spain, the kingdom between the sky and the earth/land (this is something I made up, not an actual description).
> 
> Los albaricoques - apricots
> 
> Los melocotones - peaches
> 
> (again, if these are wrong, please do tell me ^^)


	6. Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This update of Yuzurella: dragonflies, broken promises, running again, age is experience and possibility of meeting again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting from this chapter, I have a new collaborator (more like a conspirator :p ) --> [五十嵐美幸 (Reve_Du_Midi)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Reve_Du_Midi/pseuds/%E4%BA%94%E5%8D%81%E5%B5%90%E7%BE%8E%E5%B9%B8)  
> Thank you for making sure the fountain of ideas does not dry (let it overflow!) ^^
> 
> Well another chapter for the slow burn and to also serve as a bridge for the upcoming ones - our protagonists will change geographical locations very soon :P

The sky is like a ceiling made of crystalline quartz, pieces of citrine and rose, exquisitely overlain across the vast immenseness of the universe, hidden sometimes by capricious clouds of pearl and ever witnessing the forbidden romance of the sun and the moon. The sky is silent and the forest is muted from its matinal concert of falling dry leaves and snow popping foxes. He wakes up, his mind still hazy with sleep and a lethargy translated into heavy eyelids and numbness in his arms and legs. Yuzuru slowly opens his eyes to the pastel tones in the atmosphere and battles a lazy yawn.

There is a brief string of light, perhaps a crack on that ceiling. He follows that shooting star, that trail of dust from a comet, and he is surprised by the peaceful face of another man next to his. A mild headache attack his temple as he tries to goes through the pages of his memory of what happened the previous night. He remembers the cold water, the fire dance and _España_. He remembers _Javier_ and his persistent curiosity.

He remembers much more about Javier. They are both enjoying the warmth of his coat but he does not recall falling into this man’s embrace. He remembers his nasal voice and the funny way his name is called in his accent. He lifts his hands, trying not to wake the gentle figure next to him and his fingertips touches his cheek in a timid caress. Besides the Spanish name and his fancy and lavish clothes, there is not much else he had discovered about the other wanderer.

It is a silly and whimsical feeling this throbbing excitement of having spent the night away from home and with a stranger but it is also desolating and dreary to not understand – why he stayed and why he was still there with him. The heart is woven with yarns of contradiction and he has long lost the needles.

A dragonfly settles on his fingers and it tickles his pale skin. He did not know that they would still fly during winter but this one was an enthusiastic little one. The wings were long and were tiny panels of teal stained glass. It did not flutter away and maybe it was nature’s invitation to the imminent sunrise.

A spectacle just for him. Yuzuru gets up and covers Javier’s naked torso with the part of the coat he has taken advantage of during the night, still warm, and the Spaniard shifts around mumbling incoherent sounds that he tries his best to not to laugh at. He picks his own training gear, already dried and slightly smudged with the ashes that were scattered on the white soil in abstract patterns.

The dragonfly is still there waiting for him. He promises he will be back very soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuzuru follows the calling to the lake once again. There is an amiable breeze pushing him forward but his legs are frigid and do not move. The dragonfly flies above his head and it soars towards the crowns of the trees. It disappears on the beak of a redwing and there is no any other around.

The thought of drowning flashes for a second in his brain and it is a frightening synaptic experience. He can feel his airways constrict, his throat being scratchy, and his pulse quicken with adrenaline. He takes one step back but the wind forbids him and takes his hand for the renewal of their commitment. He hesitates but he kneels when he sees that all the water has frozen and the lake is once more a body of ice.

His hand touches the uneven and blurred surface, and cuts himself although without drawing blood. There is no pain either and he knows he is the one at fault for doubting the ice. He places his hand once again on top of the crystalline floor and this time, both his heart and soul are tuned to the message it sends to him – it is an apology for having hurt him and a promise of loyalty and shelter.

Yuzuru feels compelled to honor that oath with honesty and he wants to skate. He wants to tell the ice that he is still anxious and petrified, and that he will become stronger. He wants to summon and conquer his anger, and to seek guidance for what path to choose. He also wants answers for the _stranger_ and for _himself_.

\- ‘Don’t take one step further!’

He stands up and looks behind, the voice being familiar to his ears and he sees a man walking to his direction somewhat drained and relieved.

\- ‘Takahashi-senpai?’

\- ‘Don’t go to ice the again.’ – He grabs Yuzuru’s arm to be certain that the boy in front of him is real and the same one he knew.

The grip is tight and it bruises him. The younger man is trying to release from that iron hold, still perplexed by the sudden appearance of another of Morozov’s pupils but he stops struggling when he sees Pooh negligently tugged under Takahashi’s arm.

\- ‘Why is Pooh-san with you?’

\- ‘He insisted to come.’ – The newly arrived man apologizes for his rough greeting and hands in the orange smiling bear to Yuzuru, who hurriedly seizes the stuffed animal – his _companion of battle_ – and hugs it in a protective stance. – ‘Don’t step on the ice again, Yuzuru.’

\- ‘Why? What is wrong?’

\- ‘It’s for your own good. Don’t go to the ice. Don’t put your skates on. Don’t ever try to show to others.’

\- ‘Why?’ – He asks again, enervated of always receiving orders and having others constantly choosing the best for him. – ‘What can’t I show to people?’

\- ‘Just obey Yuzuru! We can’t afford to lose you.’

\- ‘WHY?’

Yuzuru is almost screaming, he himself surprised by the increase in volume. He had never challenged his senpai and there is an immediate pang of guilt. The man in front of him raises his arms and he takes a step back subconsciously. The arms are descending in his direction and he shuts his eyes – he is going to be hit.

\- ‘Your music _Yuzu_.’ – Takahashi is embracing the fragile figure of the younger man in his arms, who he considered as a younger brother but had never told him. – ‘We can’t surrender your _music_.’

Yuzuru feels uneasy and betrayed by the lock of their bodies, with Pooh crudely squished in between them. He does not return the hug but he feels a certain warmth that is cosy and reassuring. Perhaps he too could trust in him and he too could provide him answers. Perhaps he could finally find a place of his own.

\- ‘What music? It’s not the first time you–’

\- ‘You must hurry.’

Takahashi frees Yuzuru from his arms and thinks to himself that Pooh is actually cute with a few extra wrinkles. He hastily takes off his coat and puts it over the small shoulders in front of him and he tells his fellow compatriot to tug in for a solid barrier against the cold. He helps the young man buttoning and the hood hides Yuzuru’s face, just as he expected.

\- ‘I’ll tell you everything one day. Your skate, your music, Japan, our dreams. Everything. But you don’t have time now. If Morozov finds you here, I don’t know what he could do to you. You have to go.’

Yuzuru has heard him but the words do not register well in his brain. He doesn’t know why but he suddenly looks back at the woods from where he came and the coat from Takahashi is nothing but heavy and cumbersome. He remembers the golden lines and velvety one and its owner, and hesitation plagues his limbs.

The older man notices the silence and the oscillation between going and staying.

\- ‘Did you spend the night with someone, Yuzuru?’

He does not answer and only shakes his head. He holds Pooh to his chest a little too tense that the round ears of the bear are awfully crushed and his own cheeks have turned slightly pink.

\- ‘Then hurry and go to the harbor. Look for a man called ‘White Cross’ and he will help you. Show him your pendant and he will understand. Don’t trust anyone else. Don’t ever step on any ice too.’

\- ‘Are you coming with me?’

\- ‘I cannot. Morozov will suspect if the two of us disappear on the same day. I’ll find a way to meet you soon. Now go!’

Yuzuru gave one last glance to the forest before his feet finally moved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ashes of their bonfire the previous night were fairly fragrant, like the smell of heated honey, Javier thought. They were cold now and collected into miniature lumps of white and gray that soiled his hands in long chalk streaks. No matter how he played with the cinders, the pendant remained untarnished and never lost its brilliance. It bewildered him, both the crystal piece and _Yuzuru_.

Javier speedily hid the foreign object in the pocket of his pants when he heard the coming footsteps on the dry leaves and he could almost recognize them. He was waiting for his arrival soon.

\- ‘Have you rested well, my _prince_?’

The Spaniard disliked that title but only that man would call him _that_ and it was only when his patience was reaching the critical limit. Javier also knew he too was the only one who would push that boundary, more often then he should, contributing to the recent increment in _lighter_ hairs.

\- ‘Brian, did you see anyone on your way here?

\- ‘Should I have seen someone?’

Javier almost says the name of the young man out and loud but decides to keep Yuzuru in his memory. – ‘No one. Forget about this.’ – He suddenly feels a desire to monopolize him, even if it’s from Brian, his trusted coach and mentor – he was the father he never had.

\- ‘You’re the only one that comes here, Javier. You know that this forest is not forgiving to those of common blood. Even I get lost here all the time.’

Brian notices that his student is quiet and his fingers are fidgeting with twigs instead of giving excuses to skip training. There is no laziness to his eyes today; instead, they are distant and focused on something, not the earth below him or the sky above. He sits down and this action startles the Spaniard.

\- ‘Is there something you want to talk about?’

\- ‘Have you–’, he stumbles and is looking for the right words. – ‘Have you ever heard music on the ice?’

\- ‘Music?’

\- ‘Yes, when one skates.’

There is a moment of silence before his coach answers and Javier sees that there is a tenderness in the way he smiles, despite the seriousness of his voice.

\- ‘There was once _music_. It was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. It could move people and reach their hearts, even carving out their deepest secrets and fears.’ – Brian can listen to his own vocal chords faltering and he is puzzled by the mention of this topic. – ‘But music is very dangerous, Javier. Very, very _dangerous_.’

\- ‘Can I make music too?’

\- ‘No one can. Not anymore.’

Again, the younger man almost mentions the name of Yuzuru, how he felt swords piercing through his muscles but also the sweetest and innocent echo from him. He did not dream of that virtuoso and enchanter on ice, of the slender body he embraced last night, of the fingers that clung to him when he was sleeping, of the pair of mystical eyes that he wanted to know more about, or the nostalgia he felt for his country that he did not ever confess to anyone. Yet, he does not reveal the name and prefers to cherish those memories selfishly, afraid that the magic will be lost. He will find answers on his own. He _will_.

\- ‘Brian, I think I am ready to go back to Spain.’

Brian knows that something must have happened but he does not question Javier. He is just glad that his little _prince_ has finally found himself and his courage. He gives a pat on his mentee’s shoulder and nods with glimmering pride.

\- ‘Let’s go _Javi_. We have a ship to catch.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra kudos for those who can guess the identity of the 'White Cross' :p


	7. Poeta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuzurella's adventures continue: fate seems to prefer to keep threads apart and honesty is in no one's dictionary. What is with the pendant though?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and your efforts in guessing the mysteries. Maybe this chapter will reveal more, or not :p
> 
> (Also a round of applause for my partner in crime for making sure someone doesn't throw a tantrum :P )

The walk to the harbor had been a long one with numerous detours and a seemingly endless circuit of trees that gave false indications on how to leave the labyrinth of the forest. They all looked identical, with the same juniper and pine tones and jagged skins of bark. The footprints on the dirt and wet with melted snow did not disappear and adorned the rudimentary paths. The woods were an easy place to enter but merciless and harsh for those who wanted to depart from the entanglement. The forest was a trap for the inquisitive and a lure for those who wanted to get lost.

When Yuzuru arrived at his destination, the sun shone high on the azure sky and he welcomed the warm rays on his face and the flirtatious wind that disheveled his hair and Pooh’s fur. He sits for a moment in an isolated alley with access to the docks, to recover his breath and to give some rest for his leg muscles, his back resting against the red, faded bricks of the back wall of some building. He chooses the shadow to avoid drawing attention and the yellow and red bear sits on his lap. There are patches of ice, morosely gray and covering the concrete of the floor.

The commotion of sailors and people, some empty-handed while others carrying a mountain of bags and boxes more impressive than their height, near the two huge ships berthed at the docks – _Cerridwen_ and _Freya_ – is almost impossible to ignore. He wonders where the masses came from and he is impressed by the thundering noise of the engines. For a second, the vessels floating on water and cutting through waves seemed like mechanical skaters, gliding and drawing on the ice.

He shakes off this bizarre affinity from his mind and the blinding flash of light reflected from a glass pane of _Freya_ right on his direction, that made put spontaneously a hand in front of his eyes, brought back the name of the person he was searching for – _White Cross_. How would he be able to find someone he had never seen? If only Takahashi had come or had told him more. The spams on his abdominal area intensified and his stomach writhed and pleaded for food. Yuzuru was extremely hungry and even Pooh looked less spirited and weaker. Instead of adrenaline, it was a dejecting panic that threatened to take the reins.

He pulls his knees to the chest when he hears footsteps around the corner and boisterous laughter that soon ceases. There are probably three or four different voices and all of them are disconcerting. He hopes his gut will not betray his location. The conversation resumes but Yuzuru can only understand part of what is said in the secretive and perverse tone.

‘Wait until he gets on board. It’s easier to get rid of the body.’

‘But we should finish this as soon as possible.’

‘ _They_ don’t want him back in Spain.’

‘Do it tonight then!’

‘His guard dog is always with him. That man is not stupid.’

‘Throw him a bone–’

‘ _Shut up_. Let’s go.’

The sound of aluminum cans falling onto the ice startled Yuzuru who thought he was caught listening to whatever the men were planning just now. Yet, no one came for him and he exhaled in relief, the contained air almost bursting his lungs. Only the spilled amber liquid ran through the frozen surface, the bubbles dissipating almost immediately and the aggressive smell of malt and alcohol attacking his nostrils. He hated it – the stench and the way they dirtied what was precious to him. Yuzuru caressed the ice before finally moving from that spot.

From above, from an open window in that building of red bricks, a man had observed with the utmost curiosity the fleeting gentleness of that touch, and he followed the leaving figure, a charming bear in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a rather noisy place and at least half of the people on their tables looked at him with strange eyes. There were all kinds of stares and glances – disdainful, arrogant, inquisitive, sympathetic, commiserating – while others were too entertained with their own company or outright ignored his presence. From the crimson exterior, _Poeta_ seemed to be a rather discrete spot and quite popular too, with the number of heads going in and out. He saw that most people had their skates on the tables, in a competitive display for the best blades and to cement their identity as proud members of the skating society. How he wished he could do so too.

Yuzuru sat at the counter, all the bottles of different shapes and sizes the same as he had seen in Morozov’s office, and adjusted his coat to cover the stuffed animal on his lap. He turned his back to the mocking sneers and his hands closed into fists as he heard comments about a _brat who lost his way to kindergarten_ and pompous women in their screeching voices offering to _warm his bed like mama does_ or to _play with his marbles and sharpen his sword_ , generating a round of scornful laughter and he felt his shoulder sink in his seat and his face lit in an obvious scarlet hue.

\- ‘What do you want, _kid_?’

The man behind the counter did not appreciate his guests’ behavior but if they filled his pockets with gold, he could as well let them continue their idiotic humor. Yuzuru lifted his head at the question, ready to retort about the insinuation about his age, but there was something in that man’s aura that made him very different from the drunkards in the same room. The white shirt was stained with brown, maybe of blotches of tea (whose scent he missed more than he imagined), but it was immaculately tucked underneath the navy waistcoat and purple tie – the sight of a gentleman with slick brown hair.

\- ‘I’m not a kid.’

\- ‘What do you want then, _boy_?’

Yuzuru bites his lips and defiantly stares before answering. – ‘I’m looking for the White Cross.’ – There is a swift change in the man’s expression and he almost drops the glass in his hands.

\- ‘All information needs some _donation_.’

The young man remembers the advice about his pendant and he raises his hand to reach for it, only to touch his neck and chest and feel nothing. He instantly grabs Pooh with a crushing grip and his companion is still as soft as a feathery pillow, with no hard indentations or solid attachments. He had lost it. His fingers brush again the same spots in his body and there is still nothing, just his smooth skin and the shape of his Adam’s apple and collarbone. When did he lose it?

His legs shake and he feels his mouth dry. He gulps hard. He looks at his own empty hands and his stomach growls like an abandoned puppy. He wonders if this is really fate.

Yuzuru searches for the pockets in the coat for _anything_ and he finds a couple of cold, lifeless silver coins. They hit the top of the counter faster than a bird taking flight and the metallic sound echoes in that noisy environment.

\- ‘Please,’ – He pushes those coins in direction of the gentleman. – ‘I don’t have more but I need to know where that person is. _Please_.’

The impeccable stranger looks at those small tokens and goes away without uttering a single word. The silence cuts and the wounds bleed. He doesn’t know what to do anymore and he is fixing his hair, the longer strands behind his ears to calm down. He closes his eyes for a moment.

\- ‘Here.’ – The gentleman is back and hands him a plate with a round cake. It is a petite planet with a fried, cracked crust and it is still warm. – ‘Eat this first.’

Yuzuru is surprised by the offer and mumbles a _thank you_ , before picking up the fork and attacking the food. It is savory and creamy, melting in his mouth, and it almost burns his tongue. It’s delicious and he says it aloud, earning an approval nod from the older man.

\- ‘Where did you hear about White Cross?’

\- ‘I just need to see him. That person will know. Please tell me more.’

\- ‘Are you a skater?’

The young man hesitated before answering. He did not have his boots with him for Takahashi took them as a preventive measure to not let him on the ice, but he was one. He knew it. – ‘Yes.’

\- ‘Then take this.’ – And gave Yuzuru a copper key with the numbers 246 engraved on them. – ‘You don’t have anywhere else to go, right? Stay here for the night.’ – For the first time, the corners of his mouth curved into a faint smile. – ‘It’s downstairs. You might find him there.’

Yuzuru stood up and bowed at the stranger for his kindness. When he lifted his head, he saw a familiar figure walking in his direction, not noticing him though. He could recognize the way he swung his arms as he moved clearly from far – it was Patrick Chan.

He could not be seen by Morozov’s favorite student here, now that he was almost waking up from the nightmare. He turned his back and ran to the stairs giving access to his room as soon as he could. As he stormed with his eyes fixed on the floor, he carelessly collided with a rather hard and firm part of a bag he did not see. He hissed at the pain on his thigh and he almost fell to the floor if not for the quick reflexes of the man in grabbing his arm and receiving all that inertia.

\- ‘Are you okay?’

Yuzuru looked at the man and both of them felt a sort of jolt through their spines, as if electricity ran through their nerves. He could feel that the shock had been more uncomfortable for that newly arrived guest than for him.

\- ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

And he ran down the stairs, Pooh unaffected by that impact.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

\- ‘What’s wrong, Brian?’

Javier had just entered that communal dining area and he stretches his arms and legs from the trip. He looks at the direction of the stairs when his coach doesn’t reply him and has his gazed fixed at the descending steps while he opens and closes his hand in slow motion, as if strength had left his body and only returned seconds ago. He catches glimpse of the dark, slender silhouette that disappears soon from his sight, somewhat familiar, but he must be imagining things.

\- ‘No… nothing is wrong.’ – The older man can swear that there was something special about that boy and that spasms were no were coincidence. He brushed off the idea and led his student in, hopefully avoiding further inquiries.

Most of the tables were already occupied and none of the guests seemed to leave that place soon. At least half of the people there were drunk and their empty glasses clinked until the last drop. There were many new faces, amateur skaters just joining a troupe, touring for fun and those who belonged to federations. They greeted each other with a wink or a simple tilt of their heads, nothing too obvious and in no need of spoken words. Some of the women threw flirtatious smiles and glances to the Spaniard, who entertained the affection and returned a smirk or two.

Brian already knew this would happen and saved the usual warning for another occasion. He patted his student’s shoulder as he sat by the counter, on the only seat available.

\- ‘It’s not my fault, Brian. They are the ones who find me attractive.’

\- ‘Just remember who you are and don’t get yourself into trouble.’ – He picked their bags, their skates the heaviest of all. – ‘I’ll meet Tracy first. Make sure you come immediately after your _addiction_.’

Javier nodded reassuringly that he would not stray away and his eyes follow Brian’s retreating figure before ordering his usual coffee. The aroma of the drink is bitter and strong, one that he liked and never betrayed, but there was also something else like burnt caramel. The taste is too sweet from his usual blend but he doesn’t mind, not even the swirls of milk in it.

He takes another sip and takes out the pendant, his fingers playing with the thin leather cord and the couple of beads leading to the crystal rhombus. He wonders where Yuzuru is now and whether he would listen to his symphonies again, his sound imprinted in his mind and still very loud and real.

The Spaniard notices the man behind the counter looking at the necklace in his hands and he has no time to hide it as he approaches.

\- ‘Where did you find it, that crystal?’

\- ‘It’s mine.’

He sees the man shaking his head in disapproval and he can’t lie anymore.

\- ‘It came with the wind, on the wings of a tornado.’

\- ‘Do you have any idea how dangerous _that_ person is?’

Javier doesn’t know what to answer and it is not the first time someone associates danger with Yuzuru. He doesn’t understand why but he doesn’t like that adjective and his voice soon raises without him really intending to do so.

\- ‘ _Yuzuru_ is not dangerous!’

He feels a hand on his shoulder and it is his coach again. He shifts in his seat to regain his composure, his cheeks slightly flustered for his sudden loss of temper.

\- ‘Stéphane, it has been a long time.’

\- ‘A _few_ years indeed, Brian.’

Both man shake their hands, firm and for more than a couple of seconds. They would trade a hug as old friends if it wasn’t for the barrier between them.

\- ‘Business is running smoothly.’

\- ‘We couldn’t ask for more. And it’s safe here.’ – He offers him a drink, the ice cubes casually hitting the glass tumbler and melting in the whiskey. ‘So this is your Spanish protégé.’

\- ‘My headache, but he’s talented and he _needs_ to skate.’

\- ‘¡ _Oye_!’

Javier protests as Brian tastes the golden liquid and he again notices the same distraught and uneasy expression in his coach’s face when he too lays his eyes on that small pendant in his grip.

\- ‘That crystal is going to find its owner soon.’ – The impeccable gentleman returns his attention to the Spaniard. – ‘It would be wise of you to discard it.’

\- ‘It is mine and I will _not_ give it to anyone.’

There is a weary aura between them and both coaches exchange reticent glances, especially Brian who doesn’t want to fuel his student’s stubbornness any further. He pays both drinks and says something in the lines of resting and preparing for their voyage tomorrow, as an excuse for them to return to their rooms. He shakes Stéphane’s hand one last time and he understands the secret message in that claps, of keeping quiet, and his own touch is the seal of that agreement.

Javier is still upset by the time he arrives in front of the door and he doesn’t want to talk to anyone, not even the answers for all his interrogations. When Brian asks him about _Yuzuru_ , he only apologizes and postpones the conversation for later. At least _he_ would still be only _his_ for now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky is devoid of clusters of celestial bodies and only the moon is suspended on that cloth of shade. It’s not in its full splendor and roundness but only half, with a few wrinkles like crumbled paper. There are clouds that move in the multidirectional, invisible tracks and they sometimes cover the moon. It is a rather uncanny and sinister night.

It is past eleven when Javier finally decides he can talk with Brian without thinking the world is hiding something from him. He has pondered about his decision to go back to Spain and the implications of his days after he steps again on his mother soil. He thinks about his skating and _music_.

He has not thought of anything actually besides music and his hand is searching for that pendant again. He raises it to the window and it is more sparkling and radiant than before. It is a harbinger of _danger_ and yet he can’t see how and why. He is ready to throw it to his bed when he sees someone walking in the street, under the vanilla light.

It is just a young man with a svelte silhouette, the same this afternoon, and the face he would not mistake for any other.

It is _Yuzuru_.

Javier clutches the necklace, not willing to let it go, and he runs out of his room, out of that hall, out of Poeta. He forgets about his coaches and all kinds of alarms and threats. He just runs outside, afraid that Yuzuru might disappear in the darkness.

It is a cold night and he regrets not wearing his coat but it doesn’t affect his muscles. He looks both sides, not sure where to continue, and he chooses the docks. He can hear the sound of waves and there is a growing, pungent smell of fish and rust.

The Spaniard feels grateful when he sees the fleeting figure looking at the sea and he slows down. He smiles and his body shivers, both from the low temperature and from a childlike excitement. He wants to call Yuzuru’s name and surprise him.

The waves are strong and they camouflage the approaching footsteps. Javier only realizes there are more people when he turns around and a gun is pointed at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poeta - Poet (in both Spanish and Portuguese)
> 
> ¡Oye! - a Spanish exclamation like 'Hey!'


	8. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this update: a rather selfish moon, let there be light and holding hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter update of the story, but it was better to stop here and let the next one reach new heights. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting ^^

The sea calls for him. The wail is loud and ear-piercing, and he feels pity for the sirens. It is dark outside, the street barely illuminated and the scent of secrecy and danger is both intimidating and intoxicating. It lures preys to a trap of mystery and he is already walking towards the docks and the orchestra of waves.

It is cold and Pooh-san is sleeping peacefully on his bed in _Poeta_. There is no bonfire to warm the surroundings and he braces his body to suppress the trembling from his limbs. Yuzuru suddenly remembers the stranger with the funny accent and strong arms. His grip intensifies, stretching the fabric of the sleeves even more – it is somewhat rough and not gentle as velvet. The coat fits him perfectly well, but it does not embrace his shoulders and it does not tickle him like _Javier_.

The moon mocks his lonely silhouette, herself lost in the solitude of the vast sky and without her other half. She plays hide and seek with the clouds, yet soon it becomes tiring and she recedes into a crescent shape. A tenacious breeze blows in Yuzuru’s direction and he can almost taste the salt, coarse and dry on his tongue. The dust blurs his sight and he closes his eyes for a few seconds, the wind forcing him to turn away from the ships and the roaring waves that danced against the coast.

When the Japanese skater lifts his face, he notices that he is not alone anymore. Two men stood at a distance under a faint vanilla light but not too far that he cannot recognize who they are. They do not move and Yuzuru feels compelled to step closer – he feels the cold gnaw his bones, almost freezing him on the spot and his heart rages in his ribcage.

It is _Javier_.

And a gun pointed at him.

Yuzuru doesn’t know who the other man is, in his tall stature and covered head. A shadow falls on the face of the executioner and there seems to be no hesitation. The cold spreads to his spine and his chest hurts, the pain so sudden and sharp he thinks he might go hysteric.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is not the first time Javier is forced to play games with his life as prize but it is the first time he receives a checkmate and the sensation of defeat is mediocre and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. The gun barrel is too close and the trigger might be pressed anytime. He can hear a sarcastic snicker from the man and the bitterness soon turns sour, the saliva turning into acid and burning his throat as it goes down to his stomach.

Brian will surely yell at him for escaping _again_ during the night and there is no forest to protect him. Maybe he should not have neglected his rationale that evening or let his boiling temper snap his strings like a marionette. Maybe he should not have let his instincts bewitch him.

Yet, it was his instincts that drew him to _Yuzuru_.

In that instant, there is a glow coming from his hand and the hooded man is as surprised as he is. The grip in the gun is aggravated and the weapon fails to focus on its aim. The Spaniard still can’t fully see the features of that person but he is oddly familiar.

The initial flicker is faint but it soon breaks into flashes of blinding light and waves of blazing blue. Both men divert their gazes from the brilliance that even reaches the clouds. The glimmer is unexpectedly comfortable and it does not attack his irises. It is warm and gentle like ethereal caresses on his skin that he has never had before and he is not afraid of drowning in them. Javier opens his hand and there is a tiny sun in his palm. The pendant is shining fervently in synchrony with his own heartbeat, the light stronger as adrenaline rushes through his veins and mixes with a renewed audacity.

The Spaniard clenches the radiating crystal, evoking the courage it offers him from a second presence, and he launches at the attacker, a punch followed by a kick straight to his gut. The hooded man falls to the ground, coughing and gasping for air while cursing in a language only understood by him. There is a frantic urgency to leave that place and Javier does not even care about the identity of that intruder. He picks up the abandoned gun as he meets Yuzuru and throws it at the sea, the steel firearm sinking to the depths of the ocean.

\- ‘Are you okay?’

Yuzuru nods, the light of the pendant soothing his agony but not calming his heart. Before he has the opportunity to utter an audible confirmation, Javier has already grabbed his hand and they are both running away from the docks and harbor without looking back.

The glow fades almost instantly, the crystal reverting to a simple stone of a necklace. Javier is fast and the Japanese man feels his arm being pulled by the hectic rhythm of their sprint. They both welcome the darkness of the night, the moon refusing to guide them, but Yuzuru smiles. There is a pleasant warmth on his wrist, where the stranger with funny accent is holding him and for once, he doesn’t run _alone_.

Javier notices the smile, more beautiful and entrancing than he would ever admit, the accelerated pulse of the boy behind him, and he interlaces their fingers. The street is silent and none of them talk, only their ragged breaths complemented the fast-paced steps. The Spaniard does not look back and he hopes his back will not betray him like the blush that marked his face.

It must be from running, he thinks, just like how Yuzuru intensifies the grip on his hand.


	9. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this page: rain is a good friend, dancing and conversations with hot tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I really have to thank my partner in crime for reading, re-reading (and re-re-reading again) and discussion of ideas in the middle of the night :p 
> 
> And times of fluff are coming ;) 
> 
> Enjoy ^^

It is raining when they almost reach _Poeta_ , a few illuminated windows distributed among the different floors and the worn out bricks of the building aligned in the façade like a child made sculpture. It is just a light drizzle, drops of feather on his forehead that Javier does not bother to wipe but he slows down and eventually stops as Yuzuru’s breath becomes labored and the younger man coughs in frequent intervals and rather painful fits. He assures the Spaniard he will be fine and that it is nothing serious.

The rain falls heavily on the ground, bullets on the concrete and sharp needles on Javier’s ears and nose. The low temperature is much more conspicuous and the water infiltrates through his clothes to his skin. His body shivers so as Yuzuru’s, but the other man has his eyes closed and he is facing the sky, the droplets slipping to his lips, curved into a smile, and down his pale neck.

Javier watches in silence and doesn’t want to ruin the beauty of that moment but Yuzuru seems so distant and lost in that spell he might not return. He raises their hands, just to confirm their fingers are still intertwined, and the entranced man looks at him, slightly puzzled.

\- ‘It’s cold.’

The water ambushes his eyelashes and he can barely open his eyes but his feet are moving in a dance started by Yuzuru. They are walking in a slow, circular motion, twirling and stepping on the puddles on the ground. It was whimsical and silly. It was also fun and the Spaniard had forgotten how good it felt to be a kid and one with nature, his worries dissolved in flashes of lightning and clamors of thunder.

Javier stops for a second time, his head a little dizzy, and he inadvertently pulls the other man closer for balance, their bodies almost locked in an embrace. – ‘It’s really _cold_.’

Yuzuru laughs, the shortness of breath apparently gone although his chest still rises and deflates in an erratic rhythm, and he is the one to lead the way to the resting house this time, noticing the other’s discomfort. – ‘We should make a fire again.’ – The memory of their night at the woods is still very clear to him. – ‘I want to know more about your country.’

The rest of their sprint only has the soundtrack of the rain that does not want to end competing with their individual heartbeats, and soon two figures are waiting for them at the door, one clearly more impatient and agitated than the other. He rushes to his student, drawing a sigh of relief and with both hands on the Spaniard’s shoulders.

\- ‘Where have you been?! How come you suddenly disappear in the middle of the night without telling me and Tracy? Do you know how stupid that was?’

\- ‘I wasn’t alone.’ – His fingers no longer touch Yuzu’s and there is a slight distance between them. – ‘Nothing happened really.’

\- ‘Nothing happened? You’re all soaked!’ – Brian recognizes the boy next to Javier as the one in hurry and that had knocked into him that afternoon. – ‘You’re both soaked! Think about your position! What would I tell Laura if you got hurt?’

Yuzuru feels like he is intruding a private moment that has elicited somewhat a guilty expression from the man who held his pendant. The wet clothes cling to his skin with an icy magnetism and he sneezes.

\- ‘We are not hurt. I already took–’

Javier almost mentions the attacker but words dry in his mouth and himself does not know how to explain what really had saved him. He is glad that the bartender from earlier distracts Brian from any further inquiry. It is the Stéphane who comes and calms Brian, reminding them they should go in as soon as possible to avoid _anyone_ else from appearing.

The quartet averted the main entrance and they are led through a back door to a room that resembled a large rustic kitchen. Both Yuzuru and Javier stole glances at each other without uttering a single word as they walked, the tiles on the floor wet with their steps and dirty with mud. The interior was cozily warm in contrasts with the unforgiving rain outside. Copper pots were hung on the stone wall above a stove and flames ate wood on a pebble filled fireplace.

Tracy is talking with a man, legs crossed and a sporting a rather loose T-shirt showing his collarbones, and she is aghast to see Javier and another boy all drenched and pretending that they were fine when their bodies trembled considerably and their lips were painted in the shade of mauve. She asks them to sit near the source of heat and produces two mugs with a steaming drink. Yuzuru is first skeptical about it and tries to refuse but Tracy insists with the sincerest smile and motherly worry. The shivering boy accepts it and takes a sip – it is rose tea and it pleases his taste buds. He thanks her and drinks the rest of it with gratitude clearly showing on his face and enchanted by its scent, while Javier barely touches the liquid and complains about the bitterness, only holding the recipient to warm his fingers. He also notices that the man who was just now saying something about _danger_ and _a group_ was eyeing both him and Yuzuru with a fidgety interest.

\- ‘Why did you bring guests now that I’m in such rags? You could have warned me beforehand.’

\- ‘ _Idiot_. You look fine in your _rags_.’

Stéphane doesn’t sit and neither does Brian, who greets him promptly but still harsh on his tone and by calling his name only – _Johnny_.

\- ‘Brian! I thought you had disappeared but you were after all babysitting the Spanish lion.’ – He is interrupted by Javier’s grumble and the bartender had had enough of introductions.

\- ‘He is the boy Takahashi told us about.’ – Both the American and the Swiss men look at Yuzuru who is nodding at something the only woman in the room is telling him. – ‘He came looking for the White Cross.’

\- ‘Oh, they still call you the White Cross?’ – Johnny is almost dancing on his seat and rocking the wooden chair. Stéphane suddenly feels a sharp pain and a headache that follows suit.

\- ‘What were you then? A white duck?’

\- ‘What a lack of vision! I was a swan!’

\- ‘Just _shut up_.’

Yuzuru gets up at hearing the name he was looking for and almost chokes on his tea. Tracy reassures him it is better to rest first and that he does not need to look so anxious, although there is a tinge of impatience in her voice. Javier also pats his back but the pendant falls from his hands and hits the floor. Everyone in the room is startled by the sudden noise and there is no way to hide the necklace anymore.

\- ‘So the crystal belongs to _that_ boy. It belongs to Yuzuru.’

\- ‘No! This is–’ – The Spaniard is determined to join the conversation and settles his mug on the table, already lukewarm but still full of tea, almost spilling it.

\- ‘Why does your student have it in the first place? How long do they know each other?’

Brian has no answers for those interrogations but he knows now why he felt that jolt on his nerves. He remains quiet about it though – the boy seemed too young to know about the dangers that pendant held. - ‘What happened tonight out there?’ – He asks his student again.

\- ‘No matter what happened, they can’t return to their room tonight. Some of them are still out there and your Javier will not be this lucky next time.’

\- ‘We are not completely certain of their identities either. They could be from some federation.’

\- ‘They can stay with me and Tracy. We–’

\- ‘No!’ – Johnny strongly objects, knowing the layout of all the partitions in Poeta.

\- ‘We can perfectly look after the two of them and they wouldn’t _dare_ to escape again.’

\- ‘No and _no_! – The American man pushes his opinion again. – ‘The room is too small and four people is too much. Sleeping on the floor is not good for your back, be careful with rheumatism, and–’

Javier tries to speak to no avail, the discussion between the three other men adrift in their own battle of egos. It is then that he hears Tracy’s voice from near the fireplace resonating through the room.

\- ‘Enough already!’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(Work In Progress)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676399) by [五十嵐美幸 (Reve_Du_Midi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reve_Du_Midi/pseuds/%E4%BA%94%E5%8D%81%E5%B5%90%E7%BE%8E%E5%B9%B8)




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